


All Colors At Once

by SassyDragon



Category: Spiral Knights
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Gen, Major Character Death implied only, but it's the central theme of the story so, just sadness, no violence here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyDragon/pseuds/SassyDragon
Summary: A recruit, a Veteran, an escape attempt that is both desperate and, ultimately, doomed.Such is war, such is space travel, such is life- but that does not mean it doesn’t hurt.





	All Colors At Once

Somewhere in the maze of corridors, half-lit only in pulsating red, the sound of explosions coming from someplace far away - somewhere in the stream of running Isorans, a small Knight stops.

She presses herself close to the wall, letting the world pass by her with a quiet ghost of apology whenever she finds herself in someone’s way. From their vantage point ushering the crowd along, a Veteran notices and pushes over to her, armor making their already-tall figure even more imposing. The small Knight shrinks back.

The Veteran crouches to get on her level - she really is quite short. “What are you doing? The lifepods are that way!”

“I’m - I - just go, okay?!” she stammers. “I’m just a recruit, I’d be worse than useless down there, please, go on, save yourself-”

“Look at me, soldier.” The recruit obeys, and finds that the Veteran’s violet eyes have a hint of sad laughter in them. “When the Captain said the _Skylark_ was full to bursting, he didn’t mean beyond capacity. There’s a lifepod for every Isoran on this ship.”

A kind of wild, desperate hope blooms onto the recruit’s face. She opens and closes her mouth a couple times, trying to find words, then finally goes with “See you on the ground!!” and sprints off with the torrent of Knights and other personnel.

The Veteran takes a moment to shake their head in wonder. The Spiral Order needs more Knights like her, so loyal and generous that they hardly think twice before giving everything for their fellows.

Then they run off after her. They’ve no desire to stay any longer than necessary on a deathtrap of a burning ship, and they’ll be needed down there, in the unknown.

\---

The recruit makes it to a lifepod. The sealing and detachment sequence goes off without a hitch, her oxygen feed’s working fine; it’s only when she hits atmosphere that something - everything - starts to go wrong.

The Veteran doesn’t know. They are one of the lucky ones, coming down smoothly and close to others. All they see is a burning star in the sky, falling, falling out of sight.

Months later, the Veteran is sent with a temporary team to investigate one of the few crash sites that remain unexplored. The crater tells a story of tragedy: the lifepod is a burned-out shell, its heat shields having failed mid-descent. Grass has grown in the layer of ash around the craft. There is no evidence of foul play, or any other reason why this lifepod should have been destroyed when so many others were fine; there’s only evidence that a mother wolver had her pups under the remains of the upturned pilot’s seat.

The team finds very little to suggest who the pilot might have been. There’s only a few globs of molten metal long since cooled solid, and a broken shield and helmet that might have belonged to a young Knight, fresh out of training.

The Veteran looks at the helmet, at the way one tassel seems to have been completely vaporized and the other charred almost beyond recognition, the mouthguard snapped like a twig - and the image of the tiny recruit from the _Skylark_ , the one who thought to give her lifepod to them, swims into their mind and sticks there. They can’t get it out for the entire length of the trek back to Haven.

\---

At long last, everyone has been accounted for. Not everyone is present, but no one is missing. There are the survivors, and there are the dead. No one in between.

The shield and helm from the crash site have been placed in a small but quickly-growing museum of other such objects, things by which to remember those who didn’t make it. Condolences have been sent to the recruit’s family, or at least they’ve been sent to Spiral HQ, who will determine if any of her family is still alive. 

The Veteran visits the museum. They have friends to mourn, as does everyone; they linger in front of a huge sword in myriad shattered pieces, a chipped flowerpot full of ash, a deactivated battle sprite, but also the half-crumpled shield and the helmet they found themself.

They have friends to mourn, but also one who was not quite a friend. They called HQ yesterday to confirm that she was killed in the line of duty, but they don’t know her name or her serial number or who her friends are or any such thing, so they still don’t know for sure. They have a gut feeling, though. 

They’ve been a Knight for long enough that their gut is nearly always trustworthy.

\---

They know who among them is dead, now, so Captain Ozlo decides to hold a service. Isoran funerals are public affairs as a rule, the family inviting anyone and everyone to celebrate their loved one’s life and help them bear their grief. Nowhere is this truer than within the Spiral Order, where every Knight sees every other Knight as a sibling of sorts. Ozlo books Haven’s entire town square for the day and sets up a holographic projector, plus all the equipment he’ll need to make a speech.

The Order isn’t required to turn out for the event, but the vast majority of it does anyway. Its Captain ascends to the podium with some difficulty, owing to the walking cast he still sports from the badly broken ankle he sustained when his lifepod crashed. The crowd hushes.

He looks out on the ocean of his little sibs - that’s how he’s always thought of them, there are so many he’s managed to keep safe but so many faces gone - and all he can see is white.

On Isora, the color of death, of loss and mourning, is white. White for bone, white for snow, white because it is the color that is not a color, and yet is all colors at once, as death must take all in the end.

So many here. So many, all missing someone they loved. So much sorrow, that all could have been avoided if they had known they would be fired upon, if just one tiny thing in every failed descent or fight with a Gremlin had been different. It’s almost enough to make Ozlo sick.

He swallows and begins: “Knights of the Spiral Order. My friends. We’re...we are gathered here today not to lose ourselves in grief, but to find ourselves anew by remembering those who made us who we are…”

The speech is long and melodramatic, in typical Ozlo fashion, but there’s a note of sincerity in it that ruins the stereotype of long melodramatic eulogies presented by people who don’t care about the deceased. Ozlo does care. He cares so much that, by the end of it, there’s hardly a dry eye in the entire town square, because he cannot help but show it.

Eventually he stutters to a stop, having run out of things to say. As he turns from the podium to press play on the holoprojector, there are tear-tracks clearly visible on his own face.

The projector starts, displaying the image of a Knight’s face, laughing uproariously, their helmet askew. “Today, we refuse to forget,” says the Captain. “We will not forget Aaliyah.” 

He presses a button on the projector remote, and the laughing Knight is replaced by another, smiling for a portrait, receiving finger bunny-ears from someone out of the frame. “We will not forget Jalen.”

Another picture. “We will not forget Sara-Tann.”

And another. “We will not forget Quio.”

And on it goes.

“We will not forget Shandry.”

“We will not forget Psariel.”

“We will not forget Kyrick.”

“We will not forget Beszaia.”

“We will not forget Vau.”

When the recruit shows up - it’s just the picture from her ID, she was too new, they don’t have any pictures from friends in the Order - the Veteran takes off their helmet and holds it to their chest. It’s the ultimate gesture of respect.

**Author's Note:**

> No one seems to have done anything regarding those who didn't survive the Skylark crash, so here's this. A tribute to the faceless many who never saw Haven.
> 
> Enough feels for you? XD


End file.
